Shatterbelt
by Shamekeeper12
Summary: Theirs is a world of fragments. Without the country that once unified them, seven tribes have fallen into an endless cycle of civil war. In the village of Crionac, some seek to change that.
1. Truth Without Words

**~Truth Without Words~**

* * *

Out here, we do not look both ways before we cross the road, nor do we carry a heavy load. Groups of four, groups of five, cross the street before they die. Nation's quarrel, nouveau's scorn, shot in the back by an Iron Thorn.

Since the fall of the Kingdom… _our_ Kingdom, my homeland has been engaged in civil war. Once, there was a king. Once, there was a cause. Now, there are kings. Now, there are causes. Once, there was a people. Now, there are peoples. These peoples are seven tribes. I live in Crionac, a village of one of these tribes. We are situated in a narrow valley; and our rival stations its warriors on the crest of the mountaintops. There, they target practice. Here, we are targets. If, say, anyone were to cross a street in Crionac, the snipers on the mountaintops would do one of two things. He would hurl an Iron Thorn, or use a move—either of which could kill despite the distance. Most of us stay indoors most of the time, some roam freely. I like to call them idiots.

I met one such idiot as I suddenly found myself intending to cross the street to resupply my pantry which had just been depleted. I hid behind the wall of some building, having knowledge of where the snipers had been positioned.

He was a mienfoo, and his name was George. I didn't find that out until later.

"What do you have," I asked, "in your paw?"

What he held was a rather large cut of cloth, wrapped about a thin wooden branch. I recognized a particular flag. Our Kingdom's banner. "The old one," he answered.

"And just what do you think you're going to do with that?"

He looked at me, and did so oddly. It was as if I was a youngster, that I wouldn't understand. His eyes did not bear the same hatred as everyone else. No, instead they held something very different. It was a resolve that could not be suppressed, a sadness that could not be consoled, a mind that could not be brought to reason. He did not answer my question.

"Look," said he, pointing to town square, "you see that open space? You think… those snipers can see from up there?"

"Why?" I asked again. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to cross the street," he said.

"But why that way?" I pressed further. "Why not cross here, where I'm about to?"

"To get to the other side," he said.

"But that's suicide! Every sniper in those mountains can see you. They'll aim for _you_."

He sighed. "Then maybe… they won't aim for you."

With that, he turned to walk, and I was stunned at his direction, for he walked in open space. "What are you doing? Wait—stop!"

His pace did not slow, nor did it quicken; but by this time, he was in nearing the center of Crionac's town square. I advanced as if to give chase, but an Energy Ball struck the wall just as I exposed myself. The bricks seemed to explode as hefty chunks of plaster were thrown in my face. I recoiled, stunned by the event. I noticed that the other had turned back to see if I were alright. He nodded my way as I composed myself, then proceeded the final paces to the center of the square.

I then resolved to plead where I stood. "My good man, come back before you die!"

He only shook his head. Taking the branch in his hands, he began to unfurl the banner as an Iron Thorn ricocheted off the dirt an inch from his foot. He didn't even flinch. Then, in a swift stroke, he held the flag high, and stretched it upon the sky. For a fleeting second, I saw the Old Flag in its old glory. The colors were faded, but were there regardless. The fabric was torn, but was there regardless. It was then that I saw his resolve, I saw his sadness, and I saw his mind.

I saw truth without words.

I also saw, then, that seconds pass too quickly. I heard a loud crack ring out from the mountainside; as if the ancient hills cried out in response to the gesture. The same instance, he fell, and did not rise.

It was then that I suddenly became aware of the place in which I lived, and the state in which I lived. It was a place of spilled blood, and a state of self-perpetuated misunderstanding. We dare to call ourselves civilized, sentient. Yet, we have no choice but to fall back to our feral roots…. I hate this place.

Out here, we do not look both ways before we cross the road, nor do we carry a heavy load. Groups of four, groups of five, cross the street before they die. Nation's quarrel, nouveau's scorn, shot in the back by an Iron Thorn.

This place… this place, the Shatterbelt.

* * *

_Inspired by the balkanized Yugoslavian states._


	2. Silence Cave

**~Silence Cave~**

_She was a fugitive from her countrymen._

_Eight hours prior, she was homeward bound, but fire instead, she found. And so she ran, and she grew weary. It was then she found a cave—no less dreary. It was amidst her hunger pangs that she heard a distant bang. The wrath of the clan of the Golden Fang. The strength of her will was not to give, and she resolved, then, to live, and seek shelter in this den._

_ For she was a fugitive from her countrymen._

* * *

She stepped, and did so cautiously, for in this cave she was not alone. It was a fact she somehow knew. Her glowing amber eyes were cast from side to side, sweeping away the darkness, almost like the searchlights of those who seek her life. And like those searchlights, they found nothing. Then, there was a faint sound from behind, as of a pebble skittering across the rocky floor. In the same second, she whirled around, seeking source, but was only met with further darkness.

Her heart raced, and her breathless breathing quickened still. All in anticipation of some moment. A moment that she could not anticipate. Something in her mind decided that she had had enough of running and guided her legs toward, somehow disregarding the notion that whatever kept her this secretive company may soon be guilty of her murder.

She readjusted the small satchel she always bought around with her, containing only a few berries, a blanket, and a Blast Seed. She crept forward along the wall, her back pushed up against its face. The meowstic hesitated at a corner, and it was there that with a deep breath, she threw caution out the entrance of the cave, and advanced beyond the cover of the bend.

And there, slumped back against the wall, sat the weary figure of another meowstic.

He was thin, and shivering. His fur was matted and dirty in many places. For the first impression, she felt a pang of pity. It was not until the spotlight of her eyes landed upon the dulled sheen of a gold band about his left arm, that she had another impression.

Her eyes widened slightly, propelled by a sudden burst of adrenaline. "Golden Fang…" she whispered.

They were enemies, her clan and his, and the second later, he too seemed to pick up on this fact. His eyes widened in realization, and he gave a terrified yelp as he forced his back harder into the wall of the cave, as if trying to pass through the rock itself. It was a vain effort to escape the demise he was sure would follow his discovery in this dark corner of the world, undertaken in some pit of despair. He curled into a fetal position, hugging his knees, waiting for his fate. She too withdrew a pace, having the foreknowledge to know he may attack in self-defense.

However, such an action would not come. It was only when she heard his first defeated sob that she knew her male counterpart would pose no threat. Her initial feeling of pity restored, her mind presented itself with two options. Leave, and perhaps, find another place to hide…

…or stay.

To stay. It was an interesting consideration—an option she found herself questioning. Why should she? He was one of _them_. She was being chased by _them_. _He isn't one of us_, she thought. _Then again… who is us? _She considered many things. He's a Psychic-Type, he could tell everyone where she is on the brainwaves… but he wouldn't sell-out a member of his own species… would he? He could attack while her back is turned… but he is in no condition to fight. Golden Fangs never travel alone… so why is he? Would he kill her?

… _Shouldn't 'I' kill 'him'?_

It was a good question. One for which she had no answer. It was a thought she genuinely considered, but it was as if her haloed self sat on her shoulder, and told her

_No… I can't… I won't. Because… _

Her tongue thought first, "You look hurt," she said. "Do you need help?"

He looked at her with a terrified—almost wild eye. Her query was not met with reply, only a shiver, and an unsaid cry of mercy. With a determined breath, she tried a different strategy, and knelt down to his level, taking a small step forward, causing him to recoil slightly. She had a suspicion about him that was not sinister in any way, but she knew it was dangerous. Especially out here.

"Are you sick?" she asked.

Expecting no answer, she held out her digit-less paw. The meowstic ducked down further into the ball that was himself, hiding his face from her. She heard his telepathic plea.

_Please!_

"I won't hurt you," she replied.

The other did not answer. With a huff, she further added, "Let me help you."

She extended her arm further, placing her paw on his forehead, making him flinch. _Oh no,_ _he's really burning up._

"You have a fever," she said.

It became evident to her, obvious through his fever, shivering and shaky breath, that he was sick. By which ailment, she did not know for certain, but she knew it was serious. She then remembered her satchel. Swinging it off her shoulders, she began to rummage through its contents, but despite the effort, the only berries left were Cheri berries. With a frustrated huff, she tossed it to the side. She always intended to restock, but always waited until tomorrow. The thing about tomorrow, it is always the next day.

She cast her eyes back to the balled-up meowstic, then to the entrance of the cave. The sun had fallen, and the dim blue light emanating in the cave had nearly been snuffed out completely. Nightfall was nigh.

Turning back to her counterpart, she couldn't help but eye his constant shivering. At this sight, she felt compelled to aid, but her satchel was yet ill-equipped, holding but a single blanket. Her conscience in conflict, she made a decision apart from the manner of her species. She drew the warming weave from out her bag. Like a fisherman's net, she cast and wrapped it around him. His shivering intensified for a second before the touch of something soft brought his eyes out of the shell he made of himself.

He looked at her, as though confused, and she answered saying, "You can have it for the night. Don't bother asking for water. I'm thirsty myself."

A flash of surprise came over his expression, the kind only kindness can bring. His mouth dropped slightly open, as if to say something; but it closed again, and instead, she heard his thoughts.

_Thank you, _he said.

Nodding in reply, she retrieved the bag itself, and returned to set it like a pillow between her neck and the cave wall as she sat beside him.

"Why are you here?" she asked, passively staring at the opposite wall.

To this, he gave no answer.

She turned to face him, his eyes set at the ground in front of him. She cocked her head slightly. "…Are you mute?"

The meowstic breathed deeply, and for a time, there was silence in the air. So it remained, for the rest was spoken in thoughts. …_I'm running too,_ he said.

_From who?_

_ Everyone._

_ Why?_

It was then he set his eyes on a different line of sight, and met hers. With a sigh he telepathed, _It seems I think too much. Maybe they thought I'd be good at it? I don't understand it. All of a sudden, someone—someone gave the order and… Well, I'm here… and I won't last another day._

_In which case, you better take that off,_ she said, reaching for his arm, and pulling off the gold ribbon. He watched as she stuffed it in her satchel. For later, he supposed.

His neutral expression did not change, save for a single blink. _There goes my life,_ he remarked.

"And _here_ comes _rest_," she said aloud, lying on the floor, resting her head on the bag. "I suggest you sleep too."

And with that, they drifted off.

* * *

In the morning, she was not found in the cave, for she had left on urgent business. Now she finds herself in the empty streets of a pillaged town, the marauders themselves having moved on. She passed by building after deserted building before she turned suddenly, entering into an empty store. But two steps in, she knew it wasn't empty.

"Well," a voice behind the far back counter said. That of a leafeon—one with an axe to grind.

He looked upon her with some air of resentment. The kind of suppressed hatred that only came with the truth of their blood. They knew each other—that was for certain. Such was evident in the tone of his voice. "You. Again?" he snapped boredly.

"Chris, I need your help," she urged, somewhat breathless.

He nodded with a hum. "I thought just as much."

"Please! A friend of mine is very sick. I don't think he'll last another night."

His passive expression of disapproval did not waver for the longest second, as though he spaced out in the middle of her plea. She was about to say his name, but his eyes moved, and the eeveelution sat on his haunches, looking down and away from her. Whether in guilt or consideration, she did not know.

"So you need medicine?" he inferred.

"Yes," she replied quickly.

He took a long breath, and rested his head on his paw. "Is that so?" he asked in rhetoric. He sighed, "All my medicine is reserved for the Golden Fang. But I may have something… Wait here, please."

He left the front counter, and she suddenly felt alone; left behind by someone her mind once called a friend, but what her blood called a fiend. She shivered at the thought, how times have changed. Along this tangent did her thoughts drift, such that she did not notice when Chris returned with a small brown paper bag.

"You know…" he remarked, causing her to blink away her thoughts, "you might not look like it, but you always let your heart get in the way of things."

"... No…" she said with a tone of certainty. "Things get in the way of my heart."

"Well, then you better get it out of the way…" he paused for a second. "See you…"

She nodded, "Th-thank you," and turned to leave.

"And, Katherine!"

She turned to look, and saw the stern face of a 'mon she once knew.

"… This… this whole thing that happened here… doesn't make us friends."

Slowly, she nodded once more. Turning to leave for certain, she stopped in the doorway of the shop, taking in the ashen streets of what was once her hometown.

Next on her mind, what more she left behind.

She couldn't help but note the empty, ash-dusted streets, void of any character save for Golden Fang soldiers. She hid a smug grin as she roamed the streets, having now donned her male counterpart's armband around her left, just as he had worn it. Not that keeping a poker face was hard for her. She took note of its blood stains, and wondered if the other had used it for a bandage. Knowing it could be noticed, she slid it around her arm, but found the whole circumference to be stained with at least one patch of dried blood.

She cringed to think of what kind of wound they came from.

Settling on making the least-stained portion visible, she continued on her way when something trivial passed her mind.

_How could the Golden Fang be so stupid? _

Her thoughts drifted to other things once again, and she found herself in fond remembrance of the old times. To the old, greater Sapphiria, when differences were not by default, before the King died, before the first genocide, before snipers began shooting the townsfolk.

She sighed, how times have changed.

She approached her old home on the outskirts of the town. The doormat that once greeted her every day was now covered in ash, and this time, there was no door. Hers was one of the homes which were razed the day before, and the traces of smoke scratched and cut the inside of her nose. With a heavy heart, she passed through a gateless doorway. She searched about the charred pieces of wood fifteen minutes before she nearly tripped on a heavy metal safe.

She breathed out her stress in a sigh of relief. She found it. Kneeling down to the dusty padlocked, she turned the dial to the numbers of entrance. A minute passed, and it opened, revealing her most precious items.

A box of paper cranes, a watch, and a thing akin to a violin.

She stared a moment at the third, and did so somewhat blankly. She had come from a fairly rich family, and remembered the time when her parents decided it best for her to learn a new discipline in music. She was very young, then when she was first introduced to the concept of a piano. It was one of the few things about her childhood she remembered fondly.

* * *

"_I don't like that instrument!"_

"_And why is that, Kathy?"_

"_You can't take it with you!"_

* * *

With the slightest of smiles appearing on her face, she took the instrument in her paws, a fragile work of art yearning to be used once more.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered to herself.

She fixed the satchel about her shoulder, suddenly awash with memories. Feeling dry in the throat, she started for the hills where her obligation lied, and did not look back.

* * *

A small creek ran the length of the forest path which was en-route to the cave, and it was there that she encountered two passing pokemon, neither friendly.

"Hey, you! Mrs. Meowstic" a wartortle shouted, "Where are you going with that stuff? Haven't you finished looting the town?"

"This stuff? I'm… " She panicked. While it was true she did think this through, she didn't count on being noticed—much less confronted by a legitimate Golden Fang. A foolish mistake on her part, she realized. Thinking fast, she answered, "going—to a concert." She held up the violin. "I'm a musician."

A grovyle snorted, "Last I checked, musicians don't have blood on their armbands!"

She gritted her teeth in nervousness. "I got my arm cut passing through town."

"You're lying!" the wartortle accused. "You killed a 'mon and took his armband! Only _soldiers_ wear their armbands on the left!"

_Only soldiers? _she thought,_ he's a soldier? _She found herself waving her paws frantically. "It's not—"

A sudden face-full of water flung her into a tree, the generated momentum tossing her satchel and instrument to the side.

She gasped, the wind knocked clean out of her lungs. Looking up, she saw the wartortle's form charging forth in a Rapid Spin. In the same instant, her ears unfolded, and a mighty shockwave of psychic synergies surged outward. Catching her assailant mid-flight, the wartortle's vector was suddenly transferred to the opposite way, flinging him towards the scythed who ducked before it flew above his head, and crashed into a nearby tree.

With his anger further justified, the grovyle saw it fit to take his turn. Suddenly, his form was three, then six. The Double Team barely started before she suffered a devastating gash brought about by a sword of leaves. Lost in the fury of the attack, she was unable to react as her attacker dropped low, and swept her off her feet with the same Leaf Blade. She hit the ground face-first with a surprised yelp, dirt and dust clawing at her eyes.

There was a momentary pause, and she weakly raised her head from the ground in defiance of her attackers, to find that the grovyle paced about her as a vulture above a battlefield to be. Orbiting, knowing, preparing. Through tear-watered eyes, she saw his triumphant expression, about to deal the finishing blow. For a fleeting moment, she knew all was lost, but she saw her would-be murderer's eyes glance forward. She wondered for a moment before the dark blue body of a certain someone stepped in front of her, spreading his arms in a protective gesture.

"Leave her alone!" he declared, and for the first time, she knew the meowstic's voice. A stern tone, enfeebled by time spent unpracticed. She suddenly came upon a realization. He wasn't mute at all. He just didn't know what to say.

A look of passive surprise came upon the Grass-type's countenance. The wartortle returned, having recovered from her psychic blast, and took a battle stance beside the grovyle.

The former only smirked, "If you insist."

"Meowstic!" she snapped smarting, only then deciding what to call him. "What are you doing? You're sick."

"I'm alive," he corrected.

"Not for long!"

With the grovyle surging forward, the semi-able meowstic made no waste of time. She ducked her head as he threw up a barrier, the full force of Fury Cutter bearing down upon them. She knew at this rate, neither of them would last too long, already seeing the wartortle charging with his own attack. She put her head on a swivel, searching, questioning, wondering, fearing. Then her eyes set upon her satchel set afar off. A sudden, simple thought crossed her mind.

_Blast Seed__._

And suddenly, she knew their salvation rested on a single seed of uncertainty. Then, her counterpart grunted.

"I can't hold it—miss, run!"

With her destination already set, she bolted, just as his Protect shattered above them, raining pieces of psychic plaster. Soon again, the onslaught came, and almost immediately, her counterpart was overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of attacks.

Thrown to the ground, he managed to set off a single ball of darkened energy in defiance, striking the grovyle in the face, temporarily stalling their momentum.

The battlefield was void of violence for the longest second. With the enemy now set at some distance, the meowstic recovered, standing defiantly on weak knees, the grovyle wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, and Katherine had gotten to her satchel without being noticed—now rummaging to find the one Blast Seed she carried with her.

She cast an anxious glance towards the battle afar. Two sides, same clan. Both about to deal decisive blows whilst standing in the midst of the creek.

How times have changed.

"She's wearing _your_ armband," the wartortle shouted. "Isn't she?"

He would have no answer, for the meowstic was already on the attack, barreling through the wading waters of the creek with a nasty Sucker Punch. The wartortle of the two moved to act, shooting off a thin Water Gun.

His eyes widened and he dove forward into the running waters of the creek, preferring dampness to death from the water move rushing just above his head. Caught prone, the meowstic is unable to recover in time before another Water Gun makes a direct hit, tossing him back. He landed on the rocky creek-bed with a splash, a thud, and a groan.

In the instant, she found the Blast Seed in her satchel's innermost pocket. She ignored her still smarting injuries to glance behind once again, seeing the Grovyle with Leaf Storm nearly at the ready. Feeling the hard shell of the seed in her digitless paw, she knew what to do.

"Meowstic!" she cried, earning a momentary glance. "DUCK!"

No time wasted, he shielded his head with his arms. With the last of all her strength, she flung the Blast Seed like a sniper's bullet.

Flying fast, the organic grenade slammed into the ground, detonating. The resulting explosion ripped through the forest in a sound greater than most, echoing and ringing from the trees and hillside. A moment later, and all was silent.

When the smoke cleared, and the dust settled, Katherine was the first to stand, dizzy and with ringing ears. She stumbled over to the ever-flowing creek, and found her counterpart alive, a few yards from the crater. She looked about for any sign of their assailants…

… but they were gone.

* * *

"... Are you alright?" he asked, leaning on her shoulder as they both inched the last few into the safety of the cave.

"I should be fine…"—she turned to him—"…didn't expect to see you out here," she said, stopping at the back wall.

He flinched as he sat, feeling aches and pains in every joint, bone, and muscle in his body. He coughed. "Me neither," he replied.

She blinked, and reached for her trusty satchel, retrieving Christopher's medicine. Two berries. Sitrus and Lum.

"Eat these," she said. "They'll make you better."

Weakly taking them from her paws, he chewed each one. Not swallowing until practically the whole digestion process was finished. Suddenly, he was racked with pain. He keeled over, clenching his stomach, much to the panic of his counterpart.

"Are—what's going on?" she said frantically.

"Those berries—!" he moaned, trying to keep calm. "They're poisoned."

"What?! He…"

* * *

"_You know, you always let your heart get in the way of things."_

"_No… things get in the way of my heart."_

"_Well… you'd best get it out of the way… see you."_

* * *

_Damn you, Chris! _"I…" she murmured, her voice breaking for the first time in a long while. "…I'm sorry."

He coughed. "It's okay… You didn't know, right…? Your thoughts… they seem clean enough."

She shook her head in answer of the question.

"… What I can do to help?

"Not," he winced, "… Not unless you're a doctor who knows… and… and has a satchel stocked with bandages… I wouldn't last another day"—he breathed sharply—"anyway."

She hung her head, and the cave was silent for a long while.

"W-Why didn't you kill me?" he asked suddenly, starting to recover. "When you had the chance?"

"Why would I?" she replied, and suddenly, she knew exactly why she didn't kill the injured, sick, cold, and mute meowstic. Because why would she? "We're both victims, we're both homeless, we're the same species… we just don't wear the same colors."

He sat up, and hacked a chuckle, "In more ways than one!" He coughed, and a moment passed. His smile faded into a sigh. Looking out of the cave, he asked, "… Why doesn't everyone else see that?"

Upon this question pose, pause did she in suppose. She looked upon his injured form, his expression so forlorn. She knew then, what helpless was, she knew then his death need not be inferred. With a saddened sigh, she too looked outside in search of words, then came an answer… so absurd.

"They don't," she said, "but they can learn."

And the cave was silent once again.

_Inspired by those who think._

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

_I have been dead lately, haven't I? Well, I guess this'll be your socially awkward message of "Hey! I'm still here!"_

_Anyway, this has been Shatterbelt Part 2: Silence Cave. In case you're wondering what a violin has to do with all this, plot point pending. (; ^ ^ ) __I'll also be happy to take critiques. I found a few errors just looking over this again, so I'm pretty sure there's more._

_Thanks for reading! _じゃ ね！


End file.
